


Close to Godliness

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Series: 50 Shades of Samifer [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Bottom!Lucifer, M/M, Soulless!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The blue-eyed Devil and the soulless vessel share an odd relationship of experimenter and treatment group, both believing the other to be the experiment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close to Godliness

**Author's Note:**

> **Kinks:** Blasphemy 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

There’s a hand at his throat. It curls and uncurls, pads of fingers pressing into the sides of his neck than merely resting against bruising skin. Flushed, purple roses bloom underneath the fingers, forming a becoming bouquet. The floor is kissed cold from where Lucifer is laid down, shoulder blades pressing down on the artistically ornate encaustic tiles, colored in shades of magnolia to frothy greens. Skin tone is a harsh contrast but the shades of purple and the splash of red only compliments the twisting artwork underneath. 

The hour has been spent branding the archangel. Ringlets of teeth marks that are left across the landscape of the archangel’s back. Thumbprints line the curve of each shoulder blade, darker in shades where hisses turned into shouts. Thin streaks of red score across the thighs, jagged when they move over the hipbone before smooth over his sides.

There’s dried blood in an uneven path downward, vanishing when it meets lips, swollen and broken from where teeth picked at the fragile flesh. A testament to the different creature before him, clocking him in the nose when he gave lip. The archangel was left baffled as this hollowed version of Sam watched the flow of blood leave his nose, “ _Ah, he bleeds._ ”

He’s stretched out, rib cage pushing up against skin, revealing a plumage of curved ribs. Sam dips down to drag his tongue across each one, starting from the outside and moving in, wet paths of saliva shinning in the lighting. There is no malice. No fear. Sam’s testing the product. 

Sam is Lucifer’s cartographer dripping in venom. Mapping out every dip and swell of his torso, the softness of his stomach, rise of hipbones to the slope of his pelvic bone with nails, teeth and tongue. Each dig, each sinking of incisors and swipe of pink tongue says mine mine mine. His hand leaves the hue-disfigured neck to gradually slide downward, brushing over exposed nipples until Lucifer twitches in retaliation. Sam is examining the way Grace and body are unified and what he has to do to make it tick.

Teeth nip and pull at the skin on his sides, hands sliding from the archangel’s hipbones down to the inside of his thighs, pushing his legs further apart. The fallen archangel keens, throat of purple and red taut, tendons pushing up when Sam licks him open. When the sound takes on a breathy quality and the muscle in Lucifer’s left thigh begins to spasm does he pull away, listening to the sound of a displeased huff. Lucifer would bend a knee and let his foot push into Sam’s side or leg in a sign of impatience, invested in the possessiveness that this Sam has on him. Sam heeds to the calling, dragging his tongue across the spot above his entrance until lips are pressed into the archangel’s scrotum. He kisses and sucks on the skin until, like a marionette, the body lifts from the middle like a string being pulled. Sam wants nothing but to bite into the flesh of Lucifer’s lower back, where it’s soft and vulnerable on the sides. Where it’s arched and lifted just for him. Yet he’s torn between watching the archangel’s face and biting into the flesh of his back. Lucifer gives a semblance of a whine and Sam’s decision is made, he’ll watch that face until he has the archangel screaming. 

When Lucifer gives need with just a sound, Sam responds. Pavlov’s bell has never sounded so sweet. While Sam tests -- while his fingers trace his entrance, rubbing saliva into skin -- he observes. The blue-eyed Devil and the soulless vessel share an odd relationship of experimenter and treatment group, both believing the other to be the experiment. 

Sam fucks him lying on his side, arm wrapped around his torso and mouth in his ear. Fingers revisit the garden of blooming bruises on his neck, pushing deeper and deeper as if he could be deprived of oxygen. He twists his hand until Lucifer can only find comfortable if his head is turned closer to Sam, a hot mouth pressing sloppily into the corner of his mouth. Sam groans out his Father’s name, abusing it through the steady pace and rough burn from Sam pushing eagerly into him. 

_**God** you’resotight. **God** youfeelsogood.Oh **God**.StillsotightandIworkedyouopeneprettydamnwell.OnlyIcandothistoyou.Christ.Fuck.Oh **God** oh **God**. Seebeingonthebottomisn’tsuchabadthingafterall. **God** youlovethisdon’tyou.Justlikethat. **God** you’resoprettylikethis. **God** justlikethat._

There’s a wrongness to the words and hearing his Father’s name moaned into his ear, enough to make his own vessel’s gut tighten in anticipation. This time it isn’t so much Sam that made him tip over the edge. When Sam moves so the archangel could turn to face him, Lucifer’s tempted to press his mouth against Sam’s. Tempted to lick the insides of his mouth and taste the blasphemy that came pouring out, to see if it tasted as good as it felt. There’s a sense of discovery that fills him and a need to push the words out of Sam, pride pulling a quiet smile from his lips. Yet Lucifer stays put, eyes watching as Sam heaves for air. 

The hunter’s heart is beating in his ear, blood pounding away and Sam is forced to listen to the soundtrack. Muscles tremble in exertion and excitement, staring down at this bruised deity, eyes cracked in shards of electric blue. A hand raises up and cups the side of Sam’s face, the soulless being staying still before soon leaning into it. Eyes closed and frozen fingers biting into the curve of his jaw, the Winchester turns his head and nips the inside of Lucifer’s palm in a gesture one can perceive as fond. 

Sam won’t bite from the hand that feeds him just yet. All the better for Lucifer who is eager to sink his teeth into something quite new.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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